Come with me on a shopping trip you’ll pay for with more than money. I let you worship my feet while I drive, a small mercy before I reveal the damage I do to your bank account. I love the way you stare at my shoes, the way your fingers itch at the idea of paying for every reckless, glittering purchase I make.
After I flash the receipt and laugh at the total, you’ll beg to cover the bill. You’ll clean my shoes, worship my soles, and accept that my spending is your duty. Remember every price, every whip of my skirt, and submit to the delicious humiliation of being my favorite little financier.